“Yet since that loving Lord
Commanded us to love them for His sake,
Even for His sake, and for his sacred Word,
Which in His last bequest He to us spake,
We should them love, and with their needs partake;
Knowing that, whatsoe’er to them we give,
We give to Him by Whom we all doe live.”
--Spenser.
There was no more skipping that day for Nan and Meg; frightened out
of their senses, they made their way home, and were just crossing the
stable-yard when their father caught sight of them.
“I have stabled that bay horse as Vicar said,” he remarked, “and do you
two little maids keep a still tongue in your heads or we may get into
trouble. Why, what’s amiss with you both?”
“Oh, father,” said Nan, sobbing, “our wounded Puritan is going to fight
the officer from Canon Frome, who is in the orchard threatening Mistress
Hilary.”
“I’ll teach un to mind his manners in my orchard!” said Farmer Chadd,
hastily picking up a stout cudgel. “Threatening did you say? and the
lady there with no better protection than a wounded soldier! Good Lord!
but these evil living Cavaliers will be the ruin o’ the land! Run in to
your mother, my maids, and say I’ll be back soon for dinner.”
Just as he reached the orchard by one entrance the Vicar and Zachary
entered at the opposite side, and all three men gazed in horror at the
sight before them. The Governor of Canon Frome was stretched out on the
grass, bleeding and unconscious, and Gabriel Harford, to all appearance
lifeless, lay with his head on Hilary’s lap.
The Vicar bent over him and felt his heart.
“He still lives! but how can he possibly have fought Colonel Norton when
in such a plight?”
“It was to save me, sir,” said Hilary. “Oh! let us take him quickly to
shelter before it is too late.”
“There’s life in this plaguey Governor o’ Canon Frome, sir,” said Farmer
Chadd, “What be we to do with un?”
“If you and your wife could bind up his wound; the best way would be to
take word to his men, and get them to bear him hence on a litter. Could
you do that, Chadd, and say naught as to Captain Harford? He is the son
of Dr. Bridstock Harford, of Hereford.”
“Then I’ll do anything in the world for un, for Dr. Harford saved my
good woman’s life,” said Farmer Chadd. “You shelter the young gentleman,
sir, and me and the missus will see to this here plaguey Colonel.”
With Zachary’s help the Vicar lifted Gabriel on to the bier which they
had brought from the church, and carefully covering him with sacking
they bore him down through the hopyards to Bosbury. Fortunately, it was
the dinner-hour, and they did not encounter a single person, but
were able to cress the churchyard and to carry their burden up the
step-ladder to the first floor of the tower. Here they found Mrs. Durdle
hard at work; she had already laid a mattress on the floor, and was
bustling about with a broom in despair at the dust and the cobwebs which
had accumulated.
“I do wish I had time to scrub the place down, sir,” she lamented. “It
bean’t fit for a dog to lay in, let alone a Christian.”
“Never mind,” said the Vicar, “I’ll warrant ’tis cleaner than Oxford
Castle, and the main thing is to hide him and save his life. Zachary,
can you fix boards in three of the windows, or at night the villagers
may see our light?”
Leaving the wounded man to the kindly offices of Mrs. Durdle and Hilary,
both of them well skilled in sick-nursing, the Vicar hastened back to
his house, returning before long with a box full of pre-historic bones
under one arm and a flagon of Hollands under the other.
“If anyone chances to ask you why we come to and fro to this tower,
Zachary,” he remarked, toiling up the ladder and setting down his
burden, “you can tell them I am keeping my antiquities here, and can
say you’ve seen them. What! hath Captain Harford not yet regained his
senses? Try to get a little of this down his throat, Hilary. That’s
better; he will soon revive, and I will then set off for Hereford.”
The last word seemed to reach Gabriel. He opened his eyes for a moment
and caught a misty glimpse of Dr. Coke and Hilary with a rough stone
tower wall and a deeply splayed narrow window in the background. Was he
once more a prisoner in St. George’s Tower at Oxford? The horror of the
thought roused him. Then he noticed that he was lying in a bed on the
floor, and that they had removed his buff coat, a perception which
vaguely troubled him. ..
“My coat?” he said, anxiously, yet still not knowing why he wanted it.
“Are you cold,” said Hilary, spreading another blanket over him. But the
Vicar understood, and fetched the buff coat from the corner where Durdle
had thrown it.
“The inner pocket is here,” he said, placing it within reach of
Gabriel’s right hand. And then, with a look of relief, the wounded man
drew out the despatches.
“Will you give them to my father?” he said, pleadingly,
“Yes,” replied the Vicar; “but I shall beg him to come here first and
dress your wounds. Will you give them to him yourself?”
“He may not come in time,” said Gabriel, faintly.
And the Vicar, seeing that he longed to have the anxiety off his mind
thrust the despatches into his black doublet, and bidding them keep the
tower door locked, set off with Zachary to the stable, where the old
servant saddled the cob for him, and, promising to be about the premises
ready to give Mrs. Durdle help should she need him, watched his master
ride off in the direction of Hereford.
Dr. Coke was not a man to shirk anything which he had promised, but he
could not help feeling that in this despatchbearing he had undertaken
work which he would have preferred to leave alone. To stand quite
aloof from the strife and never to forget that he was before all
things pledged to the service of the Prince of Peace had been his aim
throughout the Civil War; but to refuse the request of one who lay
apparently at the point of death, seemed to him impossible, while
Gabriel’s gallant rescue of Hilary increased the desire he felt to give
him whatever ease of mind was possible.
On reaching Hereford he rode straight to the physician’s house and,
learnt from the servant that her master was about to ride out into the
country. However, he was shown into the study.
“I will not detain you many minutes, sir,” he said, after the greetings
had passed. “I know how precious time is to such a busy man.”
“Nay, ’tis not on an urgent matter of life and death that I am riding
out this afternoon,” said Dr. Harford. “I had last night a letter from
my son, who, it seems, is at Ledbury, and I hope to meet him.”
“Alas!” said the Vicar, “I bring you bad news of him. There was a sharp
fight this morning at Ledbury, and your son is sorely wounded. We have
hidden him from his pursuers in the tower at Bosbury, and he begged me
to give you these despatches which he was bearing from Massey to Fairfax
and Cromwell.”
Dr. Harford took the blood-stained packet, but for a minute could not
speak. At length he asked further particulars as to Gabriel’s wounds,
and when he, heard of the desperate ride across country and the duel
with Colonel Norton, hope died out of his face. But, as usual, he was
full of consideration for his visitor.
“I am inclined to think, sir,” he said, “that you have been hurrying to
and fro in aid of my son and have not yet dined. I will bid them prepare
a meal, and then, when your horse is rested and my arrangements for
leaving home made, we might, an’ you will, ride together to Bosbury.”
The Vicar, being in truth extremely hungry after his arduous work, did
not decline the offer of food, and was soon discussing a fat capon in
the dining-room, while the doctor saw his wife and his assistant, made
hasty arrangements for a week’s absence, and put into his bag such
things as he thought likely to prove needful for Gabriel’s case.
His wife, only longing to go herself to Bosbury, watched the
preparations with tearful eyes.
“I cannot bear to feel that the headstrong girl who is to blame for it
all should have the nursing of him,” she sighed.
“Well, my dear, had you seen his face at Notting Hill when he was at
death’s door, and I merely gave him her message, you would understand
that Hilary Unett is the only woman in the world who has a chance of
nursing him back to life. ’Tis hard, dear wife, but there comes a time
when a man is bound to leave even his father and mother and cling to
his----”
“Well,” said the poor mother, wiping her eyes, “she is not his wife yet,
and if he dies, I for one shall account her his murderess.”
The physician stooped and kissed her tenderly.
“Keep up your heart,” he said, with assumed cheerfulness. “And I know
that the kindly Vicar will bring you word how he fares, and if need
arises fetch you to him. But if possible we must avoid that, since he
cannot be safe when once his hiding-place hath been discovered. The
Canon Frome garrison will know that he is not far off, and we may be
sure will seek to lay hands on him.”
They were interrupted by little Bridstock, who came running into the
room to show them a toy sword which the groom had made for him.
“At any rate, you shall never be a soldier,” said the mother, catching
him up in her arms and kissing him. “And you can’t marry that headstrong
maid!”
“I shall marry little Betty Brydges,” said the child, with decision,
“and be Member of Parliament like Sir Robert Harley.”
The sublime confidence of his tone made the parents laugh.
“’Tis a great thing to know one’s own mind,” said the doctor, patting
the child’s curly head. “We have had our troubles, but at any rate our
two sons will not vex our souls by weak and unstable characters. There
is grit in both of them.”
“I would we had the choosing of their wives,” said Mrs. Harford,
ruefully.
“Yet you didn’t think that the best plan years ago,” replied Dr.
Harford, with a mirthful glance.
And recalling their own extremely early and rash marriage, his wife
could but smile and own that he was right.
Her heart relented a little towards Hilary, and when Dr. Coke told her
from what peril Gabriel had that day rescued her, and spoke words
of warm gratitude and praise as to her son’s courage and sterling
character, her face brightened, and she watched the two riders mount
their horses with a more hopeful spirit than might have been expected.
Yet could Dr. Harford have looked at that moment into the tower room
where his son lay, he would certainly have taken his wife with him.